


Carried Too Far

by Andraste



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Doctor Who (Comics)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Amnesia, Bodyswap, Drunkenness, Fake Marriage, Huddling For Warmth, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Multi, Prison, Sex Pollen, Sexual Slavery, Telepathic Bond, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-10-25 00:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andraste/pseuds/Andraste
Summary: Forced intimacy clichés are no match for the Doctor. (Most of the time.)





	Carried Too Far

**I. Huddled**

Despite the roaring wind outside and the snow that was steadily piling up at the cave entrance, Ian Chesterton found himself feeling uncomfortable warm. He was acutely conscious of Barbara's arms around him, of her head resting on his shoulder and the softness of her body against his. In the few months since they'd been dragged away from everything they knew, they'd attained a level of intimacy of he'd never dreamed of at Coal Hill, but this was the closest they'd ever been from a strictly physical point of view. Under the improvised blankets they shared she even had a hand resting on his knee.

The whole thing might have been _slightly_ less awkward without the Doctor's elbow digging into his ribs.

"Hmph," the Doctor said. "Susan should have been back by now."

"If she has any sense," and privately, Ian sometimes wondered, "then she'll stay in the ship until morning instead of trying to come back here in the snow. How's your ankle now?"

"Perfectly fine," the Doctor said. "If we set out now, we could still be in the TARDIS before it gets properly dark. I'm sure I can stand -" he groped around for his cane.

Barbara stirred and sat up. "Doctor, you mustn't - I think it might really be broken."

Ian wished that he'd just slung the old man over his shoulder an hour ago when it happened and _carried_ him back to the ship, but he was so stubborn about not wanting any help that it had seemed simpler at the time to just sit down in the nearby cave and wait for Susan to come back with medical supplies. That had been before it started to get dark, and before it started to snow, and before Ian had begun to wonder if Susan had returned to the ship safely. The planet they were on looked like Earth, but who could really tell? It seemed deserted by any life higher than the leafless winter trees, but Ian had learned not to take these things for granted. For all he knew, he was back on Earth in 1963 and they'd just landed in Greenland by mistake.

"Nonsense, my dear," the Doctor snorted. "I only tripped over. You shouldn't make such a fuss!"

"Here, let me have another look ..." Barbara leaned across Ian, in a way that made parts of her anatomy press against him distinctly. "Roll up your trouser leg and I'll see.."

The Doctor muttered something, but he pulled up the leg of his checked trousers nevertheless. It looked red and swollen, and the Doctor's wince of pain when Barbara touched it was visible, even in the half darkness of the cave.

"There's no way you can walk on that now," Barbara said. "If we had something to make a splint from ..."

"I think we'd better stay put until morning," Ian said reluctantly. "There could be animals roaming about for all we know."

"If there are," the Doctor said, "we should be worrying that they'll return to their lair. A cave like this would be an excellent shelter in the snow for some creature or another."

It was not a cheerful thought, but he was right. That settled it - worried as he was about Susan, Ian had to assume that she was inside the ship. He couldn't leave the Doctor and Barbara here defenceless while he went to look for her.

"It can't be helped," Ian said. "We're going to have to settle in here for the night." At least here they were warm under the fur coats they'd fortuitously found in the TARDIS wardrobe, and relatively safe for now. He was getting used to missing his supper.

"I suppose we should try to get some sleep," Barbara said, moving the coats so that they were all just about covered. She was practically sitting in Ian's lap now.

"I'll set off to look for Susan at first light." Ian was promising himself as much as the Doctor, although he could tell that the old man was more concerned than he let on.

Barbara snuggled closer to him with a sigh. The Doctor rearranged his elbow so that it dug into a different pair of Ian's ribs.

Even assuming a twenty-four hour day, it was going to be a very long night.

**II. Drunk**

Jamie McCrimmon was drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he was having trouble remembering when he'd ever been so drunk before. The drinks they had on this planet were sweet and a funny colour, but there was no doubt that they packed a punch. He giggled at his own accidental pun, then took a swing at the door, and missed.

“Let me do that,” the Doctor said, grabbing for the door handle. He was drunk, too. Oh, he was standing mostly upright, unlike Jamie, but the careful way he spoke and walked told him that he was feeling it.

"We should probably have some water before we go to sleep,” the Doctor said thoughtfully, lowering Jamie down onto the edge of the bed, "but I'm not sure that the water here would actually improve anybody's well-being."

Jamie had slept in worse places, but he certainly had a point. “Just tell the aliens not to invade again until after we've finished sleeping off the celebration,” he said.

He wondered if Polly and Ben had made it safely back to their rooms - it turned out Ben didn't hold his liquor as well as Jamie did, and Polly had lead him off to bed an hour ago. He hoped that they hadn't found any trouble, because nobody was in any fit state to rescue them.

The Doctor sighed and knelt down to take off Jamie's shoes with exaggerated care. “I'm hoping that the aliens won't come back at all,” he says. “You know,” he says, voice suddenly becoming serious, “they almost killed you today. If that laser had hit you …”

“It didn't, though.” He'd shoved the Doctor out of the way and they'd saved the day as usual.

“Sometimes I think you're too brave for your own good.”

“Ah, it's brilliant,” Jamie said, gesturing vaguely at the room. 

“You really _are_ drunk.”

“No, I didn't mean the room. I mean -” Jamie wasn't sure what he did mean, so he started again. “Different place every day. Brilliant.”

“I'm glad that you think so.”

"I never want to do anything else."

He realised as he said it that it was true. Oh, there were days when he missed Scotland - but he'd probably have missed Scotland even more if he had to run away from the English to somewhere on Earth. He never imagined the universe was so big before he got on the TARDIS.

"You know, Jamie," the Doctor says, taking off his own boots, "you _could_ leave, if you wanted to. I'm sure I could manage to steer the TARDIS to a suitable time and place."

Nowhere Jamie had seen, of all the places they'd been so far, felt as much like home as the TARDIS itself was coming to feel. He didn't know how to say that, so he just waved again. "Why would I want to stop all this? Where else would I get to save another planet every day and eat food on silly wee sticks?"

The Doctor grinned at him. "Nowhere."

"Besides,"he said, "what would you do if you did nae have me to look after you?"

The Doctor snorted. “Who exactly is putting whom to bed, Jamie McCrimmon?”

Jamie would have answered him, but he was already asleep.

**III. Confined**

"This is your fault, you know."

" _My_ fault? Need I remind you that you're the one who invited the Krillitane to invade the Earth in the first place?"

The Doctor tested the strength of handcuffs, but there was no obvious way to get out of them. If he could get his hands free ... then he would still be chained to the Master at the ankles. He would have to remedy that if he was to kick the door down and deal with the guard outside. After that, he could worry about how the get off the spaceship. For the past several minutes, a high-pitched siren had been wailing, which was hard to factor into his plans given that he didn't know why.

"But you're the one who told them I wasn't to be trusted. Really, Doctor, you have to stop spreading these things around. You're having a deleterious effect on my reputation."

"If you hadn't lied to them about the function of the Lumax Device, they wouldn't have believed me so quickly."

"If _you'd_ just gone along with my plan, then neither of us would be in this position."

"For the last time, I am not going along with any plan of yours, especially not one that involves invading the Earth." The Doctor scowled and pulled against the chains again. He wished he could remember a way out of this that didn't involve dislocating his own shoulder. Or at the very least _how_ to dislocate his shoulder. 

"Would you please stop doing that?" the Master said. "You're not going to get free that way."

"I hope you don't propose that we just sit here and wait for the Krillitane to dispose of us."

"Certainly not. Do you have a spare sonic device about your person, by any chance?"

"The Krillitane took it." It was always annoying when captors remembered to do that.

"Lockpicks? Hatpin?"

The Doctor thought for a moment. "A paper clip in my pocket, but I don't see how that helps, even if I could get to it."

"I'm not too bad with Earth locks, actually," the Master said. "Even with primitive tools."

"Now why does that not surprise me?"

"You make sure I have such a lot of practice."

The Doctor squirmed about, trying to reach into his own trouser pocket, but it was no good. His hands were bound too tightly together, and there was very little give in the chain between them.

"Here, let me try," the Master said. The chain between their ankles was short, but they had a small amount of room to manoeuvre. With a bit of work, they managed to turn just enough so that the Master could get his hand in the Doctor's pocket.

"That doesn't seem to be a paper clip," the Master said, pulling out a silk scarf.

"Well, they are bigger on the inside. It's probably sunk to the bottom."

The Master reached back in, moved his hand downwards so that it was resting on the Doctor's thigh and then just ... stopped. "You know what this reminds me of?" 

"The many other occasions when you've been locked up?"

"One in particular. That time Ruath and Ushas took that aircar, and the guard ran us in as accessories. Remember sitting in that cell all night waiting to see if the Academy would expel us in the morning?"

They hadn't just been sitting, the Doctor recalled, but it was a hitherto unspoken rule that they _didn't_ talk about old times. "That was a long time ago."

Two whole lifetimes, when he was literally a different person. Gallifreyan relationships didn't always keep the same shape after regeneration, and certainly not when one party started roaming the universe trying to take over planets and killing people.

"What's a few hundred years to Time Lords?" The Master moved his fingers. Possibly he was feeling around for the paper clip.

The Doctor was just deciding whether to tell the Master sternly to remove his hand _right now_ when the door swung open to reveal a familiar face.

"Jo! What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, of course." She smiled her sunniest smile. "We have to hurry, though, I think the ship's going to explode."

" _Explode_?" That explained the siren, but might present a certain challenge.

"I, er, might have hit the self-destruct button. The Krillitane seem a bit busy to worry about us, though."

"Ah, Miss Grant," the Master said, surreptitiously moving his hand. "The I do hope you have your trusty lockpicks on you."

"I didn't come here to rescue _you_ ," said Jo, fishing her tools out regardless.

"Obviously not, but you're not going to leave me here."

As a statement of fact, it was infuriating. The Doctor should just let him sit here and suffer the consequences of his behaviour. Naturally, he was not going to.

"Come on, Jo," he said. "Let's all get out of here. But _don't_ unchain his hands - we'll take him back to Earth with us."

"I'm sure you'll think of _something_ to do with me when we get there," the Master said cheerfully.

Next time, the Doctor thought, he would definitely leave the Master to get blown up.

**IV. Lifted**

The freight lift was less than six feet across. Sarah knew this because it took the Doctor less than two paces to get from one side to the other before turning on his heel and pacing back the other way. He must have covered the distance about five hundred times so far. She wondered if he was trying to get them out by wearing a hole in the floor.

"Doctor, will you please _sit down_?"

He stopped, and looked down at her. "No," he said, turning again.

Sarah gave a heavy sigh and put her head down on her folded arms. When he was in the right mood, she had seen the Doctor sit staring into space for hours on end. When he wasn't ... well.

They had been stuck in the lift for about an hour, by Sarah's estimation. After forcing the door open to find that they were between floors, pointed at a blank wall, and establishing that the sonic screwdriver would not work on the lock to the trap door above, the Doctor seemed to have been temporarily thwarted. There was an emergency phone, but they could hardly call the nice megalomaniac whose secret base they were stuck inside and ask him to let them out.

Sarah closed her eyes. Just looking at the Doctor pace was making her dizzy. Which might be better than thinking about how thirsty she was, although she supposed _that_ was better than the alternative.

"I don't suppose you have a bottle of lemonade in your pocket?" Sarah asked, not holding out much hope.

"Ahhhh," said the Doctor. "Let me see."

He crouched down on the metal floor and started to empty his pockets, which was always a sight to behold. Two bags of jelly babies, a cricket ball, the key to a Vespa, and several unidentifiable objects later, he hadn't found anything to drink, but he had found his yo-yo and thus an alternative source of entertainment. Five minutes later, after he nearly smacked her in the head while doing 'around the world', Sarah almost wished he'd go back to pacing.

"Doctor," she said, through gritted teeth, "you're my best friend in the world, but if we don't get out of here soon I am going to choke you to death." She considered his ability to return to life. "More than once, if necessary."

He gave her one of his goggle-eyed grins and put the yo-yo down. "We could always play I Spy," he suggested. He toyed idly with his scarf. "I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with "S" ..."

Sarah was about to scream, when she heard the lift whir back into life.

"There," the Doctor said, leaping to his feet, "what did I tell you? All we needed was a little patience."

**V. Mistaken**

“Would the gentlemen like a bottle of champagne, perhaps?”

“The gentlemen are just fine for the moment,” Turlough said, although he thought that the champagne was being offered just to distract them from how long the entrées were taking.

“Very well. Let us know if there's anything else we can do for you.”

“Is it just me,” the Doctor said, “or is he slightly over-attentive?”

“It is February 14th,” Turlough observed, “and this is the most expensive restaurant on Luxuria Major.” It occurred to him, not for the first time, that the school uniform probably wasn't helping. He'd learned that humans were _very peculiar_ in certain respects.

“Well, yes,” the Doctor replied, seemingly as bewildered as ever.

Turlough sipped his drink (poetically described as 'Sex In Seven Galaxies' on the menu and gloriously alcoholic) and wondered whether he should enlighten the Doctor. It might be worth it just for the look on his face.

He'd realised long ago that his travelling companion didn't go in for that sort of thing, with boys or otherwise. He heard from Tegan - who heard it from Adric, his unfortunate predecessor - that the Doctor used to have a sort of a girlfriend, but that was a long time ago now. It seemed like a bit of a waste to Turlough, but then again, did he really need his life to become that much more complicated? Maybe it was just as well that dinner was the most he'd get out of this evening, Valentine's Day or not.

He wasn't even halfway to the bottom of his cocktail before the waiter came back. “If sir would like, we have musicians that take requests and -”

Turlough sighed, heavily. "That won't be necessary. Look, go away, would you? We're just here to eat, I promise."

“Definitely over-attentive,” the Doctor said, looking at the retreating waiter as if wondering if he was about to turn into a slavering monster. To be fair, it would hardly be the first time that had happened. Still, it was time to cut this line of thought off before the Doctor dashed off to the kitchen in search of an invasion plot.

“Don't worry, he's not a secret assassin or something. He just thinks I'm your boyfriend."

"My - oh," the Doctor said, flushing. He looked around the restaurant, the truth apparently dawning on him at last. "Valentine's Day."

“Look, how about we try to ignore all soppy couples and waiters desperate for tips and just eat our dinner in peace for a change?”

The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it again, and then smiled. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

The oysters, when they eventually arrived, were excellent.

**VI. Sold**

This was not, technically speaking, the first time Evelyn Smythe had been in a brothel. It was, however, the first time she'd had to actually hire a prostitute. It had been difficult to smile and pretend to be nothing but a very rich customer who'd heard about their latest acquisition and wanted to have first go. There was nothing about the place that wasn't offensive, aesthetically as well as morally. The wallpaper was garish, the furnishings insufferably baroque, and the air reeked of cheap perfume. Somehow, though, she pulled it off. She made the attendant leave her at the door to the room, and pulled the tasteless curtain aside.

Her purchase was spread-eagled, handcuffed to the awful bed, without a stitch of clothing on. She'd never been so relieved to see him.

"Doctor! Are you all right?"

"Apart from being sold into slavery and handcuffed to a bed stark naked? Yes, perfectly well, thank you Evelyn. I've had a simply lovely afternoon. Now would you mind _terribly_ covering me with a sheet?"

"You haven't got anything I haven't seen before," Evelyn said. It was true. She hadn't been able to resist a glance for curiosity's sake, although she kept her eyes firmly above the waist as she threw the awful paisley bedspread over him. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"Nothing is bruised apart from my dignity. Please tell me you have the key to these handcuffs." he rattled them against the bed.

"No, but I've got a hairpin."

The Doctor managed a smile. "Evelyn, you are an angel."

The Doctors wrists inside the cuffs were slick and shining, and not with sweat.

"Oh, yuck, what _are_ you covered in?"

"They _oiled_ me," the Doctor said.

"That's ruined the bedspread then," Evelyn said, "although I don't think it's much of a loss. They didn't - do anything else, did they?"

It had taken her less than two hours to find one of the Doctors credit cards and arrive here from the auction, and she'd been quietly panicking the entire time.

"My virtue remains intact," the Doctor said. "Well, at least as intact as it was this morning. Despite the manhandling and the fact that they took all my clothes."

“This place is awful,” she said, “in every possible sense. Please tell me that we're going to do something about it.”

“Absolutely. Slave-trading contravenes a dozen local laws. We'll contact the proper authorities as soon as we get out of here. But before that," he said, draping the bedspread around himself with immense dignity, "we are going to find my trousers."

**VII. Abducted**

"They want us to _what_?"

"Demonstrate human mating," the Doctor said mildly, continuing to tap on the metal wall panels with the handle of his umbrella. They'd taken her backpack, but the Doctor had somehow persuaded them that the umbrella wasn't a dangerous weapon. "They seem to have assumed that since they found us on Earth, we must belong to the same species. A rather parochial assumption for a space-faring race, don't you think?"

That explained why they'd been shoved in a room with a comfortable looking double bed. Just when she was thinking that the grey, large-eyed creatures were the most polite aliens she'd ever been locked up by.

"When I get my hands on them -"

"Oh, Ace, there's really no need for violence. I think I can talk our way out of this if we can go and meet with their leader directly." He settled on one particular panel and started tapping out a rhythm on it. 

There was a mirror on one wall of the room, which Ace assumed was hiding either a secret room or a camera. She made a gesture at it that was all the demonstration they were going to get out of her. "Bollocks to talking," she said. "Can you get the door open?"

"Of course. Unless you think it would be simpler to do what they want?"

"No! I mean ... Could you, even?" The last time the subject of how Doctor's species got born had come up, he'd muttered something about weaving and left it at that. She was perfectly happy thinking that he didn't go in for that sort of thing.

"Well, yes." The Doctor frowned thoughtfully. "At least, I _assume_ so. I haven't, er, tested the equipment in some time. I'd sooner not, though, if it's all the same to you."

Ace could see this conversation opening up onto worlds of information that she didn't need. "I'm not showing a bunch of pervy aliens 'human mating'." And definitely, absolutely not with the Professor.

"I don't see why they can't get their information from a book like anyone else, but these Reticulans seem to prefer - hands-on experimentation, one could say."

"You mean they go around kidnapping people and making them - do it? That's horrible!"

"I suppose if you look at it from a human perspective ... On the bright side, they don't usually kill anyone, and they generally put them back when they've finished. I'm sure that if I can just explain to someone higher up that I'm not actually a human, they'll realise that any data they gathered from us would be useless anyway. They're bound to let us go after that."

Ace wasn't so sure. If he wasn't careful, the Doctor was likely to end up getting himself dissected - there couldn't be too many of his lot wandering around for the Reticulans to poke. 

"I think I prefer the aliens that _are_ trying to kill us." At least girl knew where she stood with Daleks or Cybermen, and they'd never expected her to have sex with anyone.

All of a sudden, the panel the Doctor was tapping popped off the wall. "Aha!" he said triumphantly. "Now, if I just pull on this wire here -" the door popped open and he beamed. "Shall we?"

Ace marched out the door. Now she just needed to find her Nitro 9 and she'd be showing the aliens some human behaviour they wouldn't like so much.

**VIII. Forgotten**

"And what's that?"

Izzy was briefly tempted to make something up. It looked like a flower, except that it had legs and was walking down the street after one of the planet's humanoid inhabitants. Maybe it was a weird kind of dog. Still, it would be wrong to lie.

"I have no idea. I already told you, we don't even live on this planet! I don't know anything more about it than you do.”

Her initial panic at the Doctor's state of mind had quickly turned to a mixture of concern and irritation. She had never realized how annoying it must be for someone to trail around after you saying 'what's that, Doctor?' She vowed that she would never ask her friend another inane question ever again. Assuming he ever got his memory back and was in a position to be asked inane questions.

"So why did we come here?"

"Good question," Izzy sighed.

The doctors - the kind with the small 'd' - had told her that they had no idea if or when her best friend's mind would return to itself. He'd saved the day by overloading the Cybermen's grid, but the emotional feedback had made him forget everything, starting with his own name and ending with all the details of the planet they were on. There seemed to be nothing for it but to take him back to the TARDIS, make him some tea and see if it jogged his memory.

“Look, I'm sorry,” he said, with one of his adorable frowns. “I know this must be very difficult for you, with me not remembering who you are, but you do seem lovely and I'm sure that my feelings will return in time.”

Izzy stared at him blankly. “Um, what?”

"I mean, you are my girlfriend? That's what the doctors said."

Izzy started giggling. And then she couldn't stop. Even though the Doctor was looking at her was an expression that was not only bewildered, but hurt.

"No," she said finally, patting him gently on the arm. "It's not like that. Nothing personal. I just - I don't think I like boys very much."

It's the first time she's ever told him that out loud. First time she's ever told anyone, for that matter.

"Oh," the Doctor says, smiling again, “fair enough. So we're- flat mates? Long-lost siblings?"

Izzy giggled some more. "Travelling companions!"

"And how do we travel?"

"Oh, Doctor, that's the best part. Wait until you see it."

She realises that there's a silver lining to this day: now she'll be the one to see the look on _his_ face when he realises that the box is bigger on the inside.

**IX. Bonded**

It was, in many ways, a typical space bar. Lots of different species, dim lighting, and the jangle of a jukebox playing something that the planet's dominant culture probably considered music. Jack had been in dozens of them. The odd part was that he'd managed to convince the Doctor to come inside for a drink, which had Jack looking into the dingy corners for signs of an imminent alien invasion. Or maybe he was just having more of an influence on the Doctor than he thought.

That said, his Martini wasn't very good. Not only that, the bartender had been careless and there was vermouth running down the outside of the glass. Jack didn't care much, though, licking the residue off the side as he checked out the bartender's ass. Maybe he could be licking vermouth off of something else while he ... calculated the formula for Terileptil hyberspace fuel and ... and that definitely wasn't his own thought. He rubbed the side of his head and tried to focus his mind back on the inside of his skull.

“Do you _ever_ think about anything except sex?” the Doctor asked.

“Do you ever think _about_ sex?” Jack countered, grinning at him. Ever since their minds got linked, it had been nothing but differential equations, Puccini arias and football results from 1972.

He'd learned about the basic effects of time rifts at the Time Agency, of course, but one of their lesser known properties was a tendency to cause psychic powers in humans. When he and the Doctor had plunged through one together their minds had been accidentally placed in contact, but the Doctor said that the effect was only temporary. This was a relief, because it wasn't like Jack wanted to have his travelling companion looking in on his thoughts for the rest of his life. On the other hand, this was a golden opportunity.

“I'm just saying, I think we shouldn't waste the chance. You never know when you're going to get the chance to have telepathic sex again, right?”

A series of impressions and images flickered through Jack's head, too fast for him to fix on. Once again he had the feeling he was just seeing the ripples on the surface of a dark, deep lake. Maybe the Doctor knew more about telepathy _and_ sex than he was admitting.

“So you _are_ thinking what I'm thinking.”

Jack could feel the door in the Doctor's mind slam shut. “Doesn't mean I have to think it's a _good_ idea,” he said, putting his drink down and jumping lightly off of his bar stool. “Come on, I think we'd better get out of here.”

Jack sighed, and winked at the bartender. Maybe if he couldn't get the Doctor to play along, he could at least have fun with someone else. Rose was meant to be meeting them back at the TARDIS, after all. The Doctor would be able to feel it through their link, and maybe it would loosen him up a little or – once again his head was crammed full of quantum physics and the jingle to a 20th century Earth commercial for dogfood.

“Jack,” said the Doctor out loud. “Focus!”

“You never let me have any fun.”

The next time he got telepathically bonded, he was going to make sure it was to someone more entertaining.

**X. Married**

“I can't believe they just drove off with her!”

“Look, we'll find her in the morning, all right?” it was dark, it was raining, and Donna didn't fancy spending the next eight hours – or however long it stayed dark here – looking for the TARDIS, especially since there was obviously a curfew on. “It's your fault for parking on the back of a lorry, anyway.”

The hotel had a smell about it that Donna recognised from places from Brighton to Spain to Egypt and a dozen other planets – run down and full of desperation. But they were desperate, too, since the curfew alarm sounded and a lot of serious men in uniforms came out into the street. It wasn't as if the TARDIS wouldn't turn up eventually.

“Name?” the alien behind the counter said, fixing them with four of its eight beady eyes.

“Smith,” the Doctor said, scuffing his Converse on the threadbare carpet.

“Will you be needing the Honeymoon Suite?”

Donna wondered what the Honeymoon Suite even looked like in a place like this, but she didn't really want to find out.

“We're not -” Donna started to say, but then the Doctor kicked her in the ankle. “Ow!”

"She's my wife!" Donna opened her mouth to protest, only to get another nudge in the ankle, a bit softer this time. “I mean, obviously. What else would she be?”

"Really," the lizard said, peering at her dubiously. "Did you pay much for her?"

Now it was Donna's turn to give the Doctor a swift kick, as he hesitated a moment too long before replying. "Oh, loads," he said. "Piles of rubies and gold and ... you know, white goods. We'd love the Honeymoon Suite, thanks!"

It wasn't until they were alone together in the extremely pink room that Donna had the chance to punch him in the arm.

"What was that about?!"

"We're on Thuris! Any woman caught here without a related male for an escort would be executed."

"That's horrible!"

"Couldn't agree more. But we can start a feminist revolution _tomorrow_ , after we get the TARDIS back."

Donna had half a mind to go out and start yelling at the lizard people right now, but it was late and the rain was heavier than ever, and probably people would start shooting at them. Maybe the revolution could wait nine or ten hours.

The Doctor flopped himself down onto the bed. Somebody, somewhere had probably thought that the heart shape was romantic, but the problem was that it was shaped like an anatomical heart. Maybe people on Thuris thought that was sexy.

"Oh, no,” she said. “I'm having the bed!"

The Doctor propped himself up on one elbow. "Don't tell me you'd let your new husband sleep on the floor!"

The carpet looked worse than the bed. Donna suspected that it was sticky. And it _was_ a big bed.

“Well … all right. But no stealing the covers, no funny business, and if you snore I'm throwing you out.”

By the time she'd finished in the bathroom (far too many mirrors) and taken her shoes off (the carpet WAS sticky, ugh) and found the light switch, the Doctor had settled in for the night.

“You know,” he said. “This isn't the worst Honeymoon Suite I've ever been in. Of course, the other one was technically a prison cell so -”

Donna chucked a pillow at his head.

**XI. Swapped**

If she'd had her way, this was not how Amy would have arranged it. She'd have got rid of the giant insects, just for a start. Honestly, if she'd been in charge of the universe, she'd have got rid of those altogether – or at least made sure that they were all friendly. That would have taken a lot of the time pressure off, and then maybe she'd have been able to take advantage of the situation instead of just … She heard Rory fall over behind her. Again.

“How the hell do you run in these things?!” he said, not for the first time.

“Practice,” Amy said, stooping down to pick him up. “Come on, there's some rocks over there we can hide behind until the wasps are gone.”

She half-dragged Rory until they found a crevasse to crouch in. Gradually, the sound of giant wings faded away.

Rory had kicked off her shoes and was rubbing his feet. “Seriously, Amy, these were not a good wardrobe choice.”

“I've had a lot more practice with those legs than you! And the Doctor said we were going to the 3028 Holo-Oscars, not the planet of the giant bee creatures.”

“You've been doing this long enough to know that we're bound to end up running away from _something_.”

“You didn't complain at the time!”

“Well, obviously they do make your legs look good. My legs. Whatever.”

Seeing Rory's goofy smile on her own face did strange things to her insides. Two hearts were definitely better than one. She felt like she could run _all day_ without getting tired. Run, or do something else. She hadn't even had a chance to unzip the fly yet, let alone check out what was inside. She put a hand on Rory's knee. Her knee. Whatever.

“Giant wasps aside, isn't this just a bit … interesting?”

Rory looked horrified. “Amy, we can't just … borrow his body! It wouldn't be right.”

“Go on, aren't you even a bit curious?”

Rory looked down. “I am very, very curious. If it was just you and me, and we weren't be chased by aliens – well, yeah. But Amy, I am not snogging you while you're wearing the Doctor's face.”

“But what if-”

“No threesome! Especially not if while he's wearing my body. I don't even know what he's _doing_ with it.”

“Hopefully saving the day. Or running away from giant wasps. Probably both.”

Then they didn't have time to argue any more, because the next moment there was a horrible buzzing sound. Still, as she dashed down the crevasse on her too-long legs, Amy wondered if she'd have any luck convincing the Doctor to at least keep the machine around.

**XII. Pollinated**

Clara hesitated outside the door for a good two minutes before she pressed an ear to it. She couldn't hear anything, which was _probably_ a good sign. Gently, she knocked.

“Doctor? Are you all right?”

There was a long silence, and she almost worked up the nerve to try the handle. “Fine,” came the eventual response.

“Do you … need anything?”

She'd managed to get all of the people downstairs rinsed off and back into whatever was left of their clothes, which in several cases was not very much at all, and cleared away the remains of the plant pod into several garbage bags. She'd sent the people who owned the house and their dinner party guests and the very confused postman away with the U.N.I.T. agents, relieved that she wasn't going to be the person to explain how alien sex pollen ended up in Euston. Now all that remained was to retrieve the Doctor and go back to the T.A.R.D.I.S. Except that he'd got a face full of pollen before he destroyed the pod and now he'd locked himself in the bathroom, and this was not a problem Clara has been anticipating even after fighting off a dozen alien invasions.

“Clara, believe me, in two thousand years I have _never_ wanted help less.”

“I meant – would you like a cup of tea?” It was a ridiculous thing to offer, but tea had always made the previous Doctor feel better. Although this particular situation hadn't really come up, so to speak. While this one seemed to prefer coffee, it didn't seem like a situation where extra stimulation was needed.

“Tea … would be good.”

“I'll, um, go and do that then. If you're sure you're all right.”

“Look, I'll be perfectly _fine_. It just might … take a bit.”

Given that it had been almost an hour already, Clara wasn't sure whether to be impressed or horrified, and settled on both at once. She carefully did not say anything about Time Lord stamina as she went to make the tea.


End file.
